I have a leak

I have a problem with water.

For some reason I cannot fully determine I have a recurrent puddle on the floor of what we call the ‘boot room’ (the little room by the back door where we leave shoes and other outdoor things) at my house. 

The only water that is meant to be in the room is in the heating system and the radiator and pipes are dry. There is no staining on the ceiling and no marks on the walls. All I can think is that there has been a lot of rain in the last few days and the drain by the wall there might be blocked (in fact I am off to see if I can unblock it shortly).

If it is then water will seep. That is what water does.

As I have been pondering about how difficult it is to find sources of leaks, though, because water seeps I have reflected that there are other things that seep in our lives. Jesus talked about the kind of things that come out of our hearts (anger, malice, etc…) and that people would know that we were His followers if we loved each other. We have seep-y hearts I think.

I suppose I am wondering if I only notice water-puddles or whether I am alert to the more spiritual ones too?

Cycling with boys

Last weekend I cycled 60 miles with my son and some of his friends.

I observe that reactions to this are sharply divided. Most people react with a “Wow, that’s a long way” response, particularly for the boys. Some, however, who are into cycling smile and comment that this sounds like a good starter by way of cycling trips.

We took it easy, stopping regularly and eating plenty of chocolate and I have to say it was a very pleasant couple of days without serious incident. What was lovely was seeing the character of the boys come through.

My main reflection, though, is that it is amazing what you can achieve if you just keep going. None of us are fit cyclists. When we set out it felt like the journey was going to be endless and might not be achievable. However, we just kept going. We didn’t rush, we tried not to grumble when another hill came, and the miles passed.

It is amazing what we, even the smallest of us, can achieve when we are willing to give it a go and just keep going.

Rhythms

OK, I admit it. I feel bad, even though there is no real reason I should. I have just noticed that it is almost two weeks since I last posted a blog and that is not very good. I have, though, been amazed at the number of different people who have said that they have been reading and I feel bit off that I have allowed the posts to slip.

What is interesting me more, though, is why they have slipped.

When I was abroad I had a rhythm for each day, to be honest because ‘being on sabbatical’ was the only thing I had to do. This meant that I got a lot written on the various projects that I have been considering and each day I wrote a reflection arising from that day. Back in the UK two things have changed. One is that I have been building the poustinia and the other is that I have been spending time with the family.

Building anything is unpredictable. It is possible to write for a two-hour block and the go to chapel, write a blog or go for a walk. It is not possible to stop with a wall half fixed upright or roof-felt half stuck down because, if you do, it is highly likely that you will need to redo everything you have done when you return due to wind and weather. Thus other things get pressed.

Time with the family has been wonderful. I hate being away from them. However what this means at the moment is that no two days are the same. I am spending 5 days a week away from home, and they join me at the weekends (so that we get most of the week together), but that means that one day I will be all alone with one rhythm, the next I have a journey, the next I am at home the next another journey, the next I am excited about them arriving and so on… It is lovely, but hard to settle into anything.

Why this reflection? I suppose it has made me realise again how important it is to find and use the rhythms of life. Sometimes they will be provided for us, sometimes we have to make them, and sometimes we have to muddle through without. They are a blessing to be cherished though.

Jack of all trades

Being a man who tries to keep his word… let me return to the subject of the Land Rover. (I did say I would about two months ago).

I know that my views are not universally accepted, but I do think Landrovers are fantastic cars. Mine has transported me to the Alps and back and spent the last few weeks lugging wood for the Poustinia around the country. This morning I arrived with a large trailer stuffed full of wood and roofing felt and other bits having cruised, albeit slightly noisily, back from collecting it all. It seems that whatever task I throw at it, it copes.

Yes, a Lexus would be quieter, a 2CV less bumpy, a Yaris more economical, a 1200GS quicker, and so on, but it gets there with all the things I ask it to lug around. Furthermore, get it in the mud and it is virtually unbeatable. It is a jack of all automotive trades and the master of off-road.

Omnicompetence is great in cars. I wonder, though, if it was the way that humans were designed to be?

Everything or nothing...

I am slightly concerned that this doesn’t just become a series of pictures of a shed going up but, apart from writing, that is what I am mostly doing at the moment.

The shed, soon-to-be-poustinia, is now up and largely weather-tight. You can possibly make out the plastic sheeting on the roof held on picturesquely by some large stones. It’s not pretty, but that’s not what I want to discuss; I plan to tell you about my temptations.

You see, there is still a decking bit with a roof to go in front of the shed. I can’t do that until I pick up the wood, DV on Wednesday. However my s-t-b-p is getting wet and that doesn’t seem right…

So, on the one hand I am tempted to stick the felt on the roof now to make it weather tight. That would appeal to my neater sense and would preserve the shed. However I would then have to bodge the new bit of roof on to make it waterproof.

On the other hand part of me says I should just leave it. It is only a couple of days and, even in Cumbria it can only rain so much… probably.

Neither would be quite right, so I scrabbled around for sheeting, but it did make me think that this was a microcosm of life. Too often I want to either do everything now (even though it will prevent me doing a proper job later) or not bother starting until I have a hope of finishing. Often neither will do. Life is dynamic. We have to do things for now and work towards a bigger picture. That’s the way that s-t-b-p’s turn into p’s.

Forget faith...

Well, the foundations are down for the poustinia. As you can see from the photo they are not a thing of great beauty, but they are level and resting on stone. They will support the beams on which the poustinia will stand, and they will be invisible and unnoticed until either the shed is taken down or the floor starts to wobble.

As I have been putting them in I have been musing on the whole topic of foundations. 

Whoa! Hang on. Although it would be true to say that following the commands of Jesus lays solid foundations for our lives and we should make sure that we do it carefully, actually that’s not where I am going with this.

The question I have been mulling is rather the anonymity and forgotten-ness of foundations. When was the last time you looked at the ones in your house for example? How does this aspect of foundation enlarge our understanding of enacted faith in Christ as the foundation of life? At first glance it seems rather to undermine rather than boulster discipleship.

However there are three rather important areas for contemplation, I think.

The first is that we do need to grow as disciples. In 1 Corinthians 3 (where Paul talks about building on the foundations of Christ), we see those who are not moving on from milk to solid food. They are not building up, they are messing around in the mud. Foundations are there to be built on.

The second is that we do not need to question the foundation. Now of course we gain from studying it, or Him, and questions are good if we are learning through them. But we can rely on what God has done. 

In Ripon there is a problem with Gypsum under the ground. Houses can suddenly drop into holes that weren’t there the night before. People check, particularly when buying houses that the foundations are solid. However, we don’t need constantly to dig down and check that Jesus is secure or that His death and resurrection is still holding us before the throne of grace.

Thirdly, though, we do need to be careful about the things that we build on the foundations. We are right to take certain things for granted in our own faith; to rely on them as foundational in the way we work out our salvation. However, we should always be aware that they are things that we have come to rely on, other wise we can become very judgemental very quickly.

Let me give you an example. My wife and I choose not to shop on Sundays. We find it a helpful way to mirror the work of God in creation, to invest in family and worship for ourselves and others, and to bring rhythm and order to the week. This matters to us, so, for example, as we have been looking for houses recently we chose not to look at them on Sunday afternoons despite it being the easiest time for us as it would make the estate agent have to work and thus disrupt their family Sundays.

Do we, though, or even should we condemn those who do work on Sundays? Certainly not. I have worked 90% of the Sundays of my adult life. There are questions that we would want to pose, but you can still get to heaven if you are spotted in Morrisons on a Sunday afternoon. This is a foundational thing for our family which helps in our faith, but it is not actually part of the foundation.

I don’t know if that ramble makes any sense, but it was what I was pondering as I wielded a pickaxe.

To thank or not to thank?

I found myself 'on the horns of a dilemma' yesterday as I was praying.

Like many of you I have been remembering the people of Japan in my prayers. How can we not be moved by the tragedy that is unfolding in front of our eyes? The world is a broken place with terrible ferocity lurking in its ravaged depths and I am convinced that, as people of faith, we need to learn more about responding with prayer not just with questions when things like this happen.


The questions are, of course, vitally important, it's just that the prayer is at least as important... possibly more so.


What flummoxed me, theologically speaking, was that later in the day I spent some time 'creosoting' the panels of the poustinia. As you can see from the photo I took with a different blog post in mind it was a beautifully sunny day. I painted and prayed ponderingly. I found myself thanking God for the wonderful sun which was drying my paint so well... but then found myself wondering if it was right to thank Him at the same times as I wept over the earthquake and tsunami o the other side of the world.


Questions are important. But so is prayer. 


I guess that's the dilemma which we need to inhabit. Both matter. Both matter to God, and both matter to us.

There's a time for everything

OK, here’s another confession of my own stupidity.

I picked up the shed on Saturday and loaded it onto a borrowed trailer and left it on a friends driveway ready to drag off to the poustinia-site when I returned having been in the Vicarage over the weekend to enable a boy-scout-adventure-thingamajig (I don’t resent it, I am just jealous. Do you know what scouts get to do these days? Apart from some guages taken out of fingers, they seemed to have a great time. Anyway I am digressing.)

I have to leave poustinia-central again tomorrow afternoon so I was quite keen to get a whole day in today, but after watching the Scots get thrashed at Rugby (sorry, who were they playing again?) and then waiting til my wife got home (not only so I could gloat, I hasten to add) it was almost dark and as the trailer is now over eight foot wide I thought I would prefer to tow it in the daylight.

I reminded myself that the poustinia is one of the aims of the sabbatical so it is allowed to take time. So instead of shooting off in the darkness and arriving tired and stressed I worshipped with the methodists, had a lovely evening with the family, and drove across in gorgeous sunshine. Furthermore the hardware shop was open on a Monday morning, so I have saved myself an hour’s driving later in the week to get the other bits I need.

Why is it that, even when we don’t need to we still rush? I have reflected on this before but we become so accustomed to stress that we seem to become addicted and create it around ourselves for fun. Have you ever heard anything so silly?

Today has already been a gift of grace but I bet there is more to be found. Anyone fancy a treasure hunt?

Where were they?

I noticed this years ago when I embarrassed myself in a car full of colleagues, but it is still true today. “What do you mean?” I hear you cry, and would like to believe that you want to know what is still true today. However, although you might be interested in that I bet that you are far more interested in how I embarrassed myself in a car full of colleagues.

Go on! Be honest! You are! Aren't you?

We were driving to a meeting. I can’t remember what it was, but I had offered to drive and I had four other far older, wiser, and more important clergy than me in the car. The conversation was pleasant and we were all relaxed… and then it happened.

A fire engine drove towards us. It was a big red shiny one that my eighteen month old (at the time) son would have loved. I had no control over my body. Before I could do anything my hand had shot up raising a gesturing digit in the general direction of the anti-inflammatory appliance and out of my words had sprung, with vastly over-egged enthusiasm, the words “Look! It’s a nee-nah.”

I recalled this the other day as I drove along the A66 and saw this pony in a field beside the traffic jam I had been snarled up in. My daughter would have loved to see it and there would have been another half hour discussion about why she can’t have a horse.

She wasn’t there in body, but I still took a photo. For, though it sounds cheesy, she was there, just as my son had been among the startled and slightly mocking clergy in my car all those years ago.

Love is like that.

What do you suppose that says about prayer? For if God loves us half as much as we love our kids I suspect it says an awful lot.

And so it begins...

You may or may not know but one of the key plans for my sabbatical has been to build a poustinia, which is a sort of prayer shed. I guess you might be reading more about it in the posts that are to come, but I guess it really got started today.

My original plan had been to build one from scratch, but I have had to scale back a bit because of shortening my sabbatical… so I went looking on ebay and found this shack for sale. Today I went and picked it up on a borrowed trailer.

In many ways it is perfect for my needs. It needs some planks replacing and general tidying up, but I think that I can make it into something new. What had ceased to be any use to the guy selling it will now become a place of prayer, reflection, listening and growth.

Although in some ways I would have preferred to create a purpose-built poustinia from first principles there is something wonderful about making something which is broken and unwanted into a place of reconciliation and hope. It means that, at the heart of the poustinia, is a reflection of the characteristic action of God.

For I am convinced that we give up on others, and even on ourselves, far quicker than God does.

All they had to do...

OK, so this is not going to be the most eloquent, informed, erudite or riveting blog you have ever read, but (if you are still reading), I am in a state of chuffed-ness.

Why? You ask. Well because my new wellies work.

There is little as disappointing in life as when a trusted old pair of wellies leak. Mine started to let water in months ago, but I always thought I must have splashed water over the top or been walking too close to the children. However the time came to face facts. All wellies really need to do is vaguely fit and be waterproof… so in the bin they went.

Yesterday I searched everywhere for wellies and could only find blue ones in my size. They look silly, if I am honest, but it doesn’t matter. They do the only things wellies need to do. They vaguely fit and my feet are dry having been stamping around in mud and streams earlier when I was beginning work on the poustinia site. Now these are my new old friends.

It makes me wonder though… if God were to write a blog about us how would he end the sentence “All they need to do is vaguely… and be…”. How long does He put up with us not being and doing?

Forgive the line (I can’t resist), but I think He is very patient with wet soles.

... and smells

As you probably know, yesterday was Ash Wednesday and I wanted to go to a service somewhere or other. As I was near the Cathedral I thought I would drop in there for the evening service. I hadn't quite expected that it would be a service with all the bells and whistles, but the Dean preached in His normal thought-provoking and soul-feeding way and the worship was rich.

I looked up half way through, though, at the faces of the congregation seated opposite me. I couldn't decide if they were miserable or bored from the expression on their faces. However it then occurred to me that maybe they were neither... maybe the solemn look on the face was sobriety and reflection.

And so the incense rose in billows, the service progressed and then the fire alarm went off... repeatedly. Bells and smells or what? And in the midst of sobriety came humour. Somehow it rounded the circle and I realised that not only do I need both dynamics but I also ought ought not to run away from either.

Cracking up

Phase two of the sabbatical started today as I settled into a new weekly rhythm of reading, praying, writing and building a poustinia (more of which anon, mesuspects).

Anyway, this meant that I shot off to the wilds of Cumbria to chateau poustinik and have enjoyed a combination of practical tasks and reviewing the material that I have been scribbling. The biggest shock, though, was the state of my chimney. I don’t know how well you can make it out in the photograph but it has shattered. Either the RAF have been flying even lower than normal or the ceramic has simply exploded in the extreme cold we have had and I have not noticed ’til now. The chimney looks like it has a geriatric tooth in an advanced state of decay sticking out the top of it.

Apart from the fact that I am glad that nobody was standing underneath it when it plummeted earth-wards it has made me think about fragility and sturdiness. I have never heard of a chimney pot exploding. It has never crossed my mind that it might. There are other things I worry about on the house, but not the chimney. It is the same with people, I realise. Those places where people appear weak are often the places where there is an extraordinary reserve of strength. The times when people crumble normally come as a shock.

I guess I have to be honest and say that the same dynamic is at work in me. In God’s grace there is great strength where I feel weakest but, perhaps because I don’t feel the need of support, where I am strong I often stumble.

So the challenge… well apart from having to clamber on the roof AGAIN, I guess it is to reflect more on where strength and weakness really lie. They are odd things those two.

The wisdom of St Arsène

This morning we had the rare joy of going to church together as a family and none of doing anything except participating. The discipline, of course, for people who are often ‘up front’, is listening as hard when you are not on show as you do when you have to prepare something for others. Actually, now I come to think of it, that’s a challenge for all of us; who knows how diligently we are actually engaging with God when we are engaging in worship. I guess that all of us find it alarmingly easy to fake attention.

Anyway, the thing that really caught my imagination this morning was something that the preacher ascribed to Arsène Wenger. Apparently M. Wenger says something along the lines that if you hold one hand in front of you and imagine that to be your priorities in life and then the other just behind it, between you and the first, that ought to be the attitude you bring to life. The problem is that your attitude is so often swung by prevailing situations or emotions such that it veers right, up, and down with mesmerising unpredictability.

In other words the attitude that you nurture within yourself ought to be directly in line with your priorities in life. If love is a priority then we cultivate patience, diligence, respect, loyalty and so on…

What a helpful image. I’ve got no idea how effective it is for footballers, but it bears reflection for those of us who are serious about growing and developing as Christians.

Rhythm and context

OK, we’re back. Apologies for the break, if you have missed your daily dose. However the week’s holiday was great and then I have been back in the UK for a few days.

What is fascinating to me is that the rhythm which was so easy in a variety of contexts while I was away is much harder here at home. Away I would decide on the structure of a day and then stick to the plan with minor variations; at home there are a thousand things which impinge on time. Most of  them are important things, but the interesting thing is that they erode central tasks for this time.

So, for example, while I was abroad I was writing four to five thousand words a day, here I have written about that in a week.  This is fine because there is an inevitability about tasks stacking up while I am away and then needing attention when I return. Moreover there was a week’s grace built into the plan for this return.

However, what it makes me realise is the importance of rhythm that is refreshed regularly to fit the current context. In fact that’s what I am going to do now: it is time to sit down and map out how the week will look for the remaining time on sabbatical. Being away is fruitful, the gift is bringing that ongoing fruitfulness into the everyday of life.

Holiday

Just to let you know that I am having a few days off with the family - blog will recommence soon

High Church?

What do you suppose you do when you are on sabbatical? I suppose everyone is different so that is a silly question, but most of my days so far have been spent writing, thinking, walking and praying.

I have tended to start the day and end the day with prayer and it has been really good to have more time than usual to sit and chew over the scriptures. I just wish I had put more effort into my Greek, really, but there you go.

Then I tend to write, just allowing stuff that I have been chewing over for months, some of it for years, to get put down on paper. I have no idea if it is any good yet, or any use to anyone, but it is great to get it in some kind of order.

I also walk… and today my wanderings took me to what is reputed to be the highest monastery in Europe. It is, as you can see, beautiful, but it was also closed.

There was a mournful looking lady sitting on the bench outside, and the sight of her surrounded by such marvelous beauty, leaning against a church made me wonder at how we are so often cut off in our faith from those who are crying out.

The church is beautiful, but the message it was built to celebrate is more so. I pray for eyes to see where people are asking for it and wisdom to know how to best live it.

It's my pleasure

I am still reflecting on the culture shocks that I experienced when I went to America. On of them was the extent to which everything there is monetised. Every one is tipped for whatever service they render and, although it is very friendly and generous it is really marked. I felt as if I should tip someone who smiled at me on the street.

They are a really generous people, at least in my experience, but service is offered for recompense. So, for example, in my hotel room when I had to stay overnight at an airport I found the following note in my room

I must confess that I was sorely tempted to leave a note expressing my delight that I had been a source of pleasure and inviting Melanie to call by if she were ever in England and wanted to have some more pleasure cleaning for me because my house could always do with it. I didn’t, of course, because that would have been to miss the point, which is for here a cultural norm, that she was establishing relationship between me and someone who has done something for me, in order that I could then offer recompense because to do otherwise would be unthinkable.

There are some things in life, though, that we cannot pay for, and sometimes the question is simply whether we are willing to receive.

Common Tenure...

Sorry to get all serious on you, and change the tone of this blog for a one-off entry, but I have been pondering a change the Church of England is making and would be interested in your views. This forms part of a larger body of work, and we pick up mid-way through a larger discussion.

"For larger communities who are already in covenant the vows made by new members are essential as an entry point and as renewal of that covenant between extant members.

This is a vital dynamic because the covenant itself is rarely discussed; it is simply understood and inhabited. It is, however recognised and essential. There is a fascinating example of this being played out at the moment. As I write the Church of England is moving from a system of so-called ‘freehold’ for incumbents to that of ‘Common Tenure’ and it is profoundly unsettling for many parish clergy. Let me de-jargonise that sentence and explain why the issue is so intriguing in our current debate.

For centuries, to be honest I am not sure how long but at least since the reformation of the 17th Century, clergy of the church of England have been placed as ‘curates’ in parishes, that is given churches to lead and communities to care for, on the basis of having the freehold of that church. Today’s Vicars and Rectors (there used to be a difference between those terms but there isn’t any more) literally own the church(es) (but not their contents) and the vicarage/rectory of the parishes or benefice where they serve. We are not employed, we are paid a stipend, or living allowance which allows us to survive without other paid work while we live the life of Christ among those to whom we are sent.

Now, at one level, having this freehold means little in reality because we can’t sell any of the property but, importantly, neither can the bishop or the diocese. Nothing can be done to alter my church, legally speaking, without my signature on the contract, for I have the freehold. Where this does bear fruit is in my relationship with the senior staff of the diocese. The fact that clergy have freehold allows my bishop to be my pastor not my boss. He is the chief shepherd of the diocese not the managing director. Arguably the reason that most of the renewal movements within the Anglican church have been able to take place is because parish clergy have a degree of independence from bishops. So, for example, the Oxford Movement of the 19th century depended on the freedom of parish clergy to preach a message very much at odds with the establishment. So, too, the charismatic renewal of the 70’s and 80’s which was strongly out of step with much of the church has brought great refreshment, arguably to the entire church[1].

At this moment the church is implementing a change, allegedly imposed upon us from the European Union via the British government, from freehold to ‘Common Tenure’ whereby we will hold in common the possessions of the church. Now at one level, again, this matters little. All I really mind about is the freedom to do the work of the Kingdom in the place where I am sent. However this change does alter the relationship we have with the ‘senior staff’, itself an interesting phrase, of the diocese. We now have terms of service and professional reviews. Our bishops and archdeacons become our supervisors and reviewers. We, at least at one level, lose a pastor and gain a boss.

I don’t know how this will work in practice, but I share some of the dis-ease felt by my fellow clergy. We are all supposed to be receiving a letter inviting us to relinquish our freehold but few, if any, of us intend to do so. What is the source of the dis-ease? It is not that I distrust my bishops, in fact the reverse is true.

What is happening is that the covenant into which I was ordained and within which I made vows is being altered. I am part of a covenant people and the nature of that community is being, literally, rewritten without my desire or consent at the behest of those beyond the covenant community and this feels like a violation.

I have never, at one level, explicitly entered covenant with the wider church, but at another level I have very clearly done so. I have made vows in the presence of bishops, clergy, and the wider gathered community, and on the basis of those vows and the will of the church I have been ordained and entered service. We are in covenant and that covenant holds, nurtures, and releases me into ministry. I recognise it instinctively when the covenant is altered or ignored."

[1] See John Finney’s Grove Booklet, R25, Renewal as a laboratory for change, Grove, Cambridge, 2006, ISBN 1851746293 

Let's go outside?

I got a shock yesterday, although not as big a shock as I could have got, I suppose. I was out for a walk looking for an old castle and on the way down, having found it, I saw a path which headed in the direction of the monastery. I thought it worth a try and headed down it, noticing the sign for a toilet as I did so. I thought there might be a portacabin or something as we were in the middle of nowhere, but what I did not expect to find was this…

Literally beside a footpath, which it turns out goes nowhere, was this contraption, comprising, I surmise, a composting loo.

I suppose that it serves a purpose, but you would have to have a certain confidence to use it. We all need to go at times, but doing so in public is not the most appealing of thoughts.

I guess there is a parallel here with confession… for the other cubicle I saw yesterday was when I went into the village in the church for a nosey peek. I have never really liked the idea of confession to a priest, for a variety of reasons, but high among them is the idea of getting rid of my spiritual waste in public.

I do wonder, though, how good my logic is on this one. I am not advocating public loos or, indeed, a high view of 'priesthood', but there are times spiritually when I suspect our desire for privacy has more to do with vanity than decency.

The absence of 'tu'

I noticed this morning that there is a missing word from my French vocabulary. I remember learning it at school and thinking how strange it was. 

Here there is no simple ‘you’. There is ‘vous’ for most people and for groups of people, the ‘y’all’ type sentences as my Greek tutor in Durham used to say. There is also ‘tu’ which is the intimate ‘you’ used of those to whom you are close, children, spouses and close friends.

As I chatted with the verbose nuns this morning I noticed that, even though I call them ‘my sister’ and they call me ‘my father’ (hmmmm!) they are ‘vous’ to me and I am ‘vous’ to them. A world without ‘tu’ is a lonely place, and I don’t think this is just because yesterday was the feast day of ‘Martyr Valentinus the Presbyter and those with him at Rome’. 

This place, however, is not completely without ‘tu’. For in French you pray to the ‘Tu’ in Heaven.

There is something profound and precious here which we would do well to ponder in this day whether with friends or alone… for there is one closer than a brother who calls us to (or should that be ‘tu’) Him today.

Notre Père qui es aux cieux,

que ton Nom soit sanctifié,

que ton règne vienne,

que ta volonté soit faite

sur la terre comme au ciel.

Donne-nous aujourd'hui notre pain de ce jour.

Pardonne-nous nos offenses,

comme nous pardonnons aussi à ceux qui nous ont offensés.

Et ne nous soumets pas à la tentation,

mais délivre-nous du mal.

Car c’est à Toi qu’appartiennent

le règne, la puissance et la gloire,

pour les siècles des siècles.

Amen.

Switzerland is dirty!

Just thinking back over last week’s travelling, I realise that Switzerland was one of the biggest surprises of the trip.

I had always imagined that it was a country which was highly efficient, ruthlessly functional, extremely polite, and utterly spotless. My experience was that it was very few of those things. I entered or left the country four times and only had my passport checked once and that very cursorily. I wandered for hours looking for someone to point me in the right direction for trains which had no signage to indicate where they might be going and ended up having to guess. I sat behind some giggling Swiss girls all the way across the Atlantic and came to the weary conclusion that they were no different to any other teenagers.

However the biggest surprise of all was that the country just felt grubby. Far from being able to eat your dinner off a toilet floor, not that I would have wanted to try that, the stations and restaurants and airport all just felt tired, like a home that is past its best and is no longer being invested in.

Now, I don’t want to start an international incident, that was just how it seemed to me. It has made me reflect on how the reality does not always live up to the reputation. It’s true of countries and of organisations, and it is true of people. I suppose that we sometimes feel that we can’t control our image and so we just leave it and focus on who we are, and that is good I think. However there are times when we buy into the modern myth of ‘spin’; that if we can boost our image people will not notice the reality, at least for the time being. This, surely, cannot be the way of Christ?

Shhhhh!

This place is so noisy!


I have come to another monastery, except it isn't really a monastery in the same sense as other ones I have been to. It's more of a retreat house with a missional order of nun-ish types living here, and boy do they chatter.


It is, in part, I suppose, that I am a bit of an oddity. An English Anglican Priest is not the normal guest they have. They are very friendly and it's nice enough to take part, but not what I had expected. It's just difficult to get a thought in edgeways.


I guess that is what I am noticing. I have come here to think and pray, and that process is disturbed every time I leave my room by the restlessness of conversation.


It makes me realise what we don't often have. Peace is spiritual, but it is also more than that. It is deeply precious. 

I'll be your friend...

Last week I had the enormous delight of meeting up with one of my closest friends from years ago whom I have somehow not seen for ten years. You know how it happens, and yet at the same time it is not clear how it happens.

Anyway, it was a delight to meet up and the time passed all too quickly.

It has set me thinking, though, about what friendship is. Specifically: is it something rooted in the self, in the other, or in the relationship, and can we generalise?

I am quite convinced, you see, that most of what we call friendship is nothing of the sort, really. It is mere aquaintance and familiarity. Many ‘friends’ are simply the people who happen to be in the same place or places that we are. Facebook illustrates this perfectly, where the 4,567 people whose names you know on-line are all ‘friends’ when many of them are nowhere near that close. There’s nothing wrong with this, in fact there is an awful lot right with it. We are called to love those around us, and that is expressed most commonly in everyday friendliness and freindship.

Real friends, though, are not merely people we know. They are those we would travel to see, whose children we would care for, or whose preferences are a delight rather than a burden to us. They are those to whom we have a lasting allegiance and for whom that is mutual. There is affection and mutuality in the relationship, but as soon as we try to pin it down, at least as soon as I try to pin it down, it slips away as a concept.

To return to my question, though, where does this reside? Is a friend a friend just because you decide they are? Or is there something about the two of you that would mean you were friends whatever? To what extent are two friends who have not met for years still friends? What happens to the friendship in the periods of absence?

These are big questions, but the truth is the experience of friendship is profound and life-shaping. They are picked up after times away, remoulded with changes of circumstance, and sustained through the turbulent patterns of life.

Of this I am sure; it works because God created us with friendship in mind: with each other, but also, of course, with Him.